beyond patient with today’s fittings. I’m glad we’re almost done here. I’ve had a grand time, but I’m getting a bit tired of all the poking and pinning.”
Lily waited in the salon while Meggie returned to the dressing room to don her clothes. Feeling quite pleased, Lily was about to compliment herself for a job well done when the little bell over the doorway rang to signal more customers entering the shop.
Lily turned toward the door. An exquisitely dressed young woman strolled in followed by an equally striking young man. Both were tall and golden-haired. “Good day,” she said, casting the attractive couple a smile.
They ignored her.
She shrugged in response and waited for Madame de Bressard to appear through the curtain separating the salon from the fitting rooms. The agile woman did so promptly and with a cheerful greeting for her new customers.
“Where is the wretched creature?” the female asked, cutting her short.
“We know she’s here,” the man snapped.
“My lord, I don’t know who you mean.” She turned to Lily, obviously seeking help, but Lily was as confused as she.
The man waved his ornate, silver-handled cane in front of her. “Margaret Cameron. The Scottish bitch’s offspring!”
Lily gasped. “Sir!”
She’d heard worse language spoken, but rarely so venomously. Her mind began to race, her first concern being for Meggie’s safety. She had to sneak Meggie out of the shop at once. Was there a side entrance? Who were these awful strangers, anyway?
Madame de Bressard shrank back against the hats counter, in her distress knocking over several hats and feathers. Her complexion was as ashen as the white satin fabric draped over one of the nearby armchairs.
Lily moved toward her, determined to get between her and this unwholesome pair before they frightened the woman into giving Meggie away. Though Madame de Bressard appeared to be made of sterner stuff, not the sort to toss a customer to the wolves, Lily couldn’t be completely sure, so she stepped forward, her chin raised high, and tried a little intimidation of her own. “I’ve waited months for an appointment with Madame and will not have it interrupted by pretentious commoners—”
The man’s lips curled in a snarl. “How dare you! Do you know who I am?”
No, but she hoped to find out. “I’m not in the least interested. You’re obviously not quality.”
“Wretched girl!” He raised his arm and struck her on the shoulder with his cane. She hadn’t seen that coming. He’d actually struck her! “I’m the Duke of Lotheil’s grandson! His one and only rightful heir.”
“An obvious lie, sir.” Ow, that hurt. “I doubt anyone secure in his standing would shout such drivel in a ladies’ dress shop. Now, I suggest you leave without further fuss or I’ll summon my footmen to toss you out.”
He raised his cane again, but as Lily turned to grab a hat pin off the counter to defend herself, the man suddenly moved away. Or rather, he was hurled away. Lifted off his feet and sent flying across the room by... Ewan!
The man landed with a crash atop one of the tables beside Madam de Bressard’s floral silk sofa. Lily watched in horrified glee (or was it gleeful horror?) as the table groaned and then cracked beneath this villain’s flailing weight. His companion rushed toward him.
So did Ewan.
Oh, crumpets! Ewan was going to kill the man unless she stopped him. “Ewan, help me! Please!” She pretended to swoon in that ridiculously theatrical way her mother and Aunt Julia had perfected over the years. She’d never tried it before. She hoped it would work on Ewan as well as it seemed to work on most men.
It didn’t.
Crumpets again! She scampered to her feet, determined to get between Ewan and the man before Ewan lifted him again and tossed him through the window onto the street, because she knew, as surely as she knew the orbits of the various planetary objects in Earth’s solar system, that Ewan was going
Lily waited in the salon while Meggie returned to the dressing room to don her clothes. Feeling quite pleased, Lily was about to compliment herself for a job well done when the little bell over the doorway rang to signal more customers entering the shop.
Lily turned toward the door. An exquisitely dressed young woman strolled in followed by an equally striking young man. Both were tall and golden-haired. “Good day,” she said, casting the attractive couple a smile.
They ignored her.
She shrugged in response and waited for Madame de Bressard to appear through the curtain separating the salon from the fitting rooms. The agile woman did so promptly and with a cheerful greeting for her new customers.
“Where is the wretched creature?” the female asked, cutting her short.
“We know she’s here,” the man snapped.
“My lord, I don’t know who you mean.” She turned to Lily, obviously seeking help, but Lily was as confused as she.
The man waved his ornate, silver-handled cane in front of her. “Margaret Cameron. The Scottish bitch’s offspring!”
Lily gasped. “Sir!”
She’d heard worse language spoken, but rarely so venomously. Her mind began to race, her first concern being for Meggie’s safety. She had to sneak Meggie out of the shop at once. Was there a side entrance? Who were these awful strangers, anyway?
Madame de Bressard shrank back against the hats counter, in her distress knocking over several hats and feathers. Her complexion was as ashen as the white satin fabric draped over one of the nearby armchairs.
Lily moved toward her, determined to get between her and this unwholesome pair before they frightened the woman into giving Meggie away. Though Madame de Bressard appeared to be made of sterner stuff, not the sort to toss a customer to the wolves, Lily couldn’t be completely sure, so she stepped forward, her chin raised high, and tried a little intimidation of her own. “I’ve waited months for an appointment with Madame and will not have it interrupted by pretentious commoners—”
The man’s lips curled in a snarl. “How dare you! Do you know who I am?”
No, but she hoped to find out. “I’m not in the least interested. You’re obviously not quality.”
“Wretched girl!” He raised his arm and struck her on the shoulder with his cane. She hadn’t seen that coming. He’d actually struck her! “I’m the Duke of Lotheil’s grandson! His one and only rightful heir.”
“An obvious lie, sir.” Ow, that hurt. “I doubt anyone secure in his standing would shout such drivel in a ladies’ dress shop. Now, I suggest you leave without further fuss or I’ll summon my footmen to toss you out.”
He raised his cane again, but as Lily turned to grab a hat pin off the counter to defend herself, the man suddenly moved away. Or rather, he was hurled away. Lifted off his feet and sent flying across the room by... Ewan!
The man landed with a crash atop one of the tables beside Madam de Bressard’s floral silk sofa. Lily watched in horrified glee (or was it gleeful horror?) as the table groaned and then cracked beneath this villain’s flailing weight. His companion rushed toward him.
So did Ewan.
Oh, crumpets! Ewan was going to kill the man unless she stopped him. “Ewan, help me! Please!” She pretended to swoon in that ridiculously theatrical way her mother and Aunt Julia had perfected over the years. She’d never tried it before. She hoped it would work on Ewan as well as it seemed to work on most men.
It didn’t.
Crumpets again! She scampered to her feet, determined to get between Ewan and the man before Ewan lifted him again and tossed him through the window onto the street, because she knew, as surely as she knew the orbits of the various planetary objects in Earth’s solar system, that Ewan was going
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